Smoke Quotes - Page 39

• Writing is.... being able to take something whole and fiercely alive that exists inside you in some unknowable combination of thought, feeling, physicality, and spirit, and to then store it like a genie in tense, tiny black symbols on a calm white page. If the wrong reader comes across the words, they will remain just words. But for the right readers, your vision blooms off the page and is absorbed into their minds like smoke, where it will re-form, whole and alive, fully adapted to its new environment.

  Mary Gaitskill

  Writing, White, Feelings

  FaceBook post by Mary Gaitskill from May 15, 2012

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• And indeed there will be time for the yellow smoke that slides along the street rubbing its back upon the window-panes; there will be time , there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; there will be time to murder and create, and time for all the works and days of hands that lift and drop a question on your plate; time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of toast and tea.

  T. S. Eliot

  Hands, Window Panes, Yellow

  T. S. Eliot (2012). “The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems”, p.8, Courier Corporation

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• I’ve tried that. I’ve tried aspirin, too. Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle. What I’ve found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany’s. It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s, then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.

  Truman Capote

  Real, Nice, Cat

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• Once time is lit, it will burn whether or not you're breathing it in. Even after smoke becomes air, there is the memory of smoke. I am seeing as if by the light of a match, a glimpse of my life and having it feel right.

  David Levithan

  Memories, Optimistic, Light

  David Levithan (2008). “The Realm of Possibility”, p.11, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• Give me a hot coal glowing bright red, Give me an ember sizzling with heat, These are the jewels made from my beak. We fly between the flames and never get singed We plunge through the smoke and never cringe. The secrets of fire, its strange winds, its rages, We know it all as it rampages Through forests, through canyons, Up hillsides and down. We track it. We'll find it. Take coals by the pound. We'll yarp in the heart of the hottest flame Then bring back its coals an make them tame. For we are the colliers brave and beyond all We are the owls of the colliering chaw!

  Kathryn Lasky

  Heart, Fire, Glowing

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• The officers saluted as she passed and gravely bowed. They walked back across the courtyard and got into their chairs. She saw Waddington light a cigarette. A little smoke lost in the air, that was the life of a man.

  W. Somerset Maugham

  Men, Light, Air

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• What did you put in the fire?" Kaladin said. "To make that special smoke?" "Nothing. It was just and ordinary fire." "But, I saw-" "What you saw belongs to you. A story doesn't live until it is imagined in someone's mind." "What does the story mean, then?" "It means what you want it to mean," Hoid said. "The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think , but to give you questions to think upon. Too often, we forget that.

  Brandon Sanderson

  Mean, Thinking, Fire

  Brandon Sanderson (2017). “Brandon Sanderson's Fantasy Firsts: (The Way of Kings, Mistborn: The Final Empire, Rithmatist, Alcatraz vs. The Evil Librarians)”, p.1775, Macmillan

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• She can feel his blood, just beneath his skin; when he breathes, the air fills with smoke. He's like a dragon, ancient and fearless.

  Alice Hoffman

  Air, Dragons, Blood

  Alice Hoffman (1999). “Here on Earth”, p.201, Penguin Group

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• But he [Depression] just gives me that dark smile, settles into my favorite chair, puts his feet on my table and lights a cigar, filling the place with his awful smoke. Loneliness watches and sighs, then climbs into my bed and pulls the covers over himself, fully dressed, shoes and all. He's going to make me sleep with him again tonight, I just know it.

  Elizabeth Gilbert

  Loneliness, Sleep, Dark

  Elizabeth Gilbert (2009). “Eat Pray Love: One Woman's Search for Everything”, p.50, Bloomsbury Publishing

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• Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.

  Shannon Hale

  Smell, Nightmare

  Shannon Hale (2010). “The Goose Girl”, p.41, A&C Black

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• The smoke alarm went off in the hallway upstairs, either to let us know the battery had just died or because the house was on fire.

  Don DeLillo

  Fire, House, Alarms

  Don DeLillo (2011). “White Noise”, p.11, Pan Macmillan

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• He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." That's why.

  Suzanne Collins

  Moving, Love You, Eye

  Suzanne Collins (2010). “Catching Fire (The Second Book of the Hunger Games)”, p.96, Scholastic Inc.

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• As Alaska zipped through something obvious about linear equations, stoner/baller Hank Walsten said, "Wait, wait. I don't get it." "That's because you have eight functioning brain cells." "Studies show that Marijuana is better for your health than those cigarettes," Hank said. Alaska swallowed a mouthful of fries, took a drag on her cigarette, and blew a smoke at Hank. "I may die young," she said. "But at least I'll die smart. Now, back to tangents.

  John Green

  Smart, Marijuana, Cells

  John Green (2008). “Looking for Alaska”, p.46, Penguin

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• Tilting his head back he slowly released an enormous quantity of smoke from his mouth and drew it up through his nostrils. He continued to smoke in this "French-inhale" style. Very probably, it was not part of the sofa vaudeville of a showoff but, rather, the private, exposed achievement of a young man who, at one time or another, might have tried shaving himself left-handed.

  J. D. Salinger

  Men, Enormous Quantities, Style

  J. D. SALINGER (1968). “FOR ESME- WITH LOVE AND SQUALOR”

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• Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

  William Shakespeare

  Sweet, Eye, Love Is

  William Shakespeare (1847). “The Plays of William Shakespeare”, p.148

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• I can smell the smoke now. I can see tendrils of it comin' up between the cracks in the shrikin' floorboards. There she is, calmly taking down the framed examples of fine embroideries, samplers, and needlework from teh hallway wall and tucking them under her arm. "Mistress! Come on! You've got to leave!" She calmly turns and faces me. "Why?" she asks. "The British are coming?" "Only one, Mistress," I say

  L.A. Meyer

  Wall, Smell, Mistress

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• You're much better than fireworks. They're all over in a moment, and you're going to stay for a fortnight. Besides, fireworks are noisy, and they make too much smoke.

  Kate Ross

  Too Much, Moments, Fireworks

  Kate Ross (2012). “Cut to the Quick: Julian Kestrel #1”, p.19, Felony & Mayhem Press

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• Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.

  Arundhati Roy

  Mother, Memories, Eye

  Arundhati Roy (2002). “The God of Small Things”, p.72, Penguin Books India

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• I used to smoke marijuana. But I'll tell you something: I would only smoke it in the late evening. Oh, occasionally the early evening, but usually the late evening - or the mid-evening. Just the early evening, midevening and late evening. Occasionally, early afternoon, early mid-afternoon, or perhaps the late-midafternoon. Oh, sometimes the early-mid-late-early morning. . . But never at dusk!

  Steve Martin

  Funny, Weed, Morning

  "Steve Martin: A Wild and Crazy Guy", 1978.

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• I think pot should be legal. I don’t smoke it, but I like the smell of it.

  Andy Warhol

  Weed, Marijuana, Thinking

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• Is Adrian here?” “Who?” “Adrian. Tall. Brown hair. Green eyes.” She frowned. “Do you mean Jet?” “I … I’m not sure. Does he smoke like a chimney?” The girl nodded sagely. “Yup. You must mean Jet.

  Richelle Mead

  Girl, Mean, Eye

  Richelle Mead (2011). “Bloodlines”, p.134, Penguin

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• NOW, MY BRETHREN!" Poseidon's voice was so loud I wasn't sure if I was hearing it from the smoke image or from all the way across town. "STRIKE FOR OLYMPUS!

  Rick Riordan

  Voice, Way, Hearing

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• As a lobbyist he had long ago concluded there was no difference in how Democrats and Republicans conducted the business of government. The game stayed the same: It was always about favors and friends, and who controlled the dough. Party labels were merely a way to keep track of the teams; issues were mostly smoke and vaudeville. Nobody believed in anything except hanging on to power, whatever it took.

  Carl Hiaasen

  Team, Party, Government

  Carl Hiaasen (2001). “Sick Puppy”, p.94, Vintage Crime/Black Lizard

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• The wind outside nested in each tree, prowled the sidewalks in invisible treads like unseen cats. Tom Skelton shivered. Anyone could see that the wind was a special wind this night, and the darkness took on a special feel because it was All Hallows' Eve. Everything seemed cut from soft black velvet or gold or orange velvet. Smoke panted up out of a thousand chimneys like the plumes of funeral parades. From kitchen windows drifted two pumpkin smells: gourds being cut, pies being baked.

  Ray Bradbury

  Cat, Cutting, Night

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• The world was full of dangers now that she was pregnant: mercury in tuna, hot tubs, beer, secondhand smoke, over-the-counter medicine. Not to mention crazy baby-abducting fairy kings.

  Jennifer McMahon

  Baby, Kings, Crazy

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